Legally Addicted - By Lena Dowling

Chapter One

For thirty blissful sleepy seconds after waking up to the familiar sound of Sydney’s early morning traffic, Georgia Murray believed she was in her own bed. She might have gone on believing it if something hadn’t stirred beside her, which given she lived alone was, at best, disconcerting. She opened one eye. The antique furniture, chandeliers, and gilt mirror immediately sealed her suspicions. This was not her own pared down, ultra-modern apartment.

Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Now fully alert, her mind began to download a series of memories from the night before; mildly disturbing memories, involving too much wine, an űber-handsome and charming colleague, and being good in a bad way, or was that bad in a good way?

Either way it had been hot.

The images playing through her mind confirmed that she had said things, done things, and requested other things, and Brad Spencer, the man now sleeping next to her, had obliged.

OMG, how he had obliged.

She blushed, pulling the sheet up under her chin, setting off ripples of pure pleasure as the fabric slid between her thighs. Her leg touched his and the warmth of his skin seeped in, tempting her to tap him awake and suggest an encore. Her hand hovered over his shoulder, undecided.

Then she came to her senses.

She looked at him, his dishevelled hair and stubbled chin doing nothing to detract from his perfect jawline and athletic body. He was even more beautiful up close than across a courtroom. He was certainly much better looking lying naked next to her than wearing one of his trademark European designer suits.

Georgia sat up and gave her spine a rolling stretch, arching like a cat. This could only ever be a one-night deal, and she would preserve her pride, making sure she left before he woke up.

She moved her leg away from him, a little at a time, until their skin no longer touched. He stirred, but didn’t wake, as she inched across the bed. The bed was a super-king size, and it took an age before she could finally extricate herself and begin putting on her clothes. Like crumbs in a Hansel and Gretel trail, she found her bra trailing off the end of the bed, pointing the way back into the lounge room. Her skirt hung askew over a French antique chair, and below it were her shoes, beside which she also discovered her blouse and purse.

Everything, except her underwear.

Damn it.

Her G-string was still in the bed.

She considered abandoning the item, but after weighing up the risk of having to face an awkward goodbye versus the humiliation of leaving Brad with a souvenir, she decided to risk retrieving it.

Tiptoeing back across the lounge into his bedroom, she crouched down at the side of the bed. She inserted her hand into the sheets, sliding it down, until her fingertips made contact with lace. She had barely grasped it, when Brad’s voice, croaky with sleep, startled her, almost knocking her backwards off her haunches.

‘You’re not leaving already, are you?’

His hand caught her wrist, his thumb trailing up her forearm, raising goose bumps in its wake. Georgia froze, fighting the urge to slip back between the sheets.

She took a deep breath and banished the errant thought to a darkened, soundproof corner of her mind.

‘I need an early start. I have a full diary today.’

‘Pity. Last night was fantastic. You were fantastic,’ Brad corrected himself. He closed his eyes; dark feathered lashes contrasted against his tanned skin. He released her wrist, allowing her to extract her hand from the bed sheets and snap the thong into her purse.

She was fantastic?

Good to know.

The cocktail party where she met Brad had been thrown by the partners at the law firm where she worked. It was held in Georgia’s honour, to announce her becoming partner, in a private room at one of the smartest hotels in the city, and it had been okay. She had expected to be bored out of her brain, having to make small talk all evening with the other two partners, a couple of greying old stuffed shirts, but with the gourmet canapés, excellent champagne, and the whole office invited, she had actually had a good time.

She hadn’t planned this. She hadn’t even known Brad Spencer would be there. But then she hadn’t known he lived in the hotel either, or that the other partners knew him well enough to invite him to join the party.

‘Likewise, a fantastic night,’ she replied, but almost before she got the words out,